


Above-Average Espionage

by komorinana



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komorinana/pseuds/komorinana
Summary: The shrill sounds of the fruit machines dimly registered in Jack’s mind as he raised his hand at the waitress behind the bar for another martini. It was his first day off in a while and, boy, working for the secret service was a pain in the taint. When a tall, shy-looking brunette took a seat next to Jack and quietly flagged down the waitress for a rum and coke, Jack could’ve laughed at how unwaveringly perfect his luck was. It’s time to blow off a little steam.A quick slice of smut (loosely) set in a spy AU!
Relationships: Handsome Jack/Rhys (Borderlands)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51





	Above-Average Espionage

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello! mori here. a friend of mine spoke with me aaaaages ago about a spy au full of a ton of cliches. i was going to write a whole fic about it, but never found the time! please enjoy a few of my favourite ideas i would've put in if i wrote it:
> 
> "jack and rhys are forced to work on a top-secret mission together and h a t e it, they also have to share a single motel room with one bed. imagine hazel and cha cha's from umbrella academy lmaooo. jack leaves to get ice and smoke a cigarette because he's an old man and when he gets back rhys is getting changed into a matching set of pyjamas with stars on them"
> 
> "they're supposed to be hiding during a stealth mission or something and they bump into each other and start whisper bickering/shoving each other. when someone's like 'did u hear that' THEY BICKER WITH THEIR MOUTHS SHUT. WILD HAND GESTURES."
> 
> “u kno the thing where someone waits behind a door to hear your footsteps so they can open it straight into ur face? jack does that to rhys and his nose just. crack. breaks.” 
> 
> “and then the big moment where they go through smthn traumatic like one of them gets hurt or smthn and its that whole situation and then it knocks some sense into them. jack, through gritted teeth, bleeding from his stomach: bitch”
> 
> “also pls imagine rhys using his spindly legs to get around those stupid laser tripwire alarm things, thank u for your time”
> 
> “JACK SINGING HIS OWN THEME SONG AND RHYS MAKING HIS OWN VERSE”
> 
> enjoy and stay classy! 🖤

The shrill, celebratory sounds of the fruit machines dimly registered in Jack’s mind as he raised his hand at the waitress behind the bar for another martini, watching with clouded interest as the clear liquid from her shaker made its way into his glass for the third – _scratch that, fourth_ – time tonight. A lot of swearing followed the sound of one of the fruit machine’s loser jingle, and Jack had to repress a laugh as the poor bastard playing it put another coin into the rigged machine.

Although Jack’s senses were overwhelmed at this hotel’s casino, it was a truly welcome numbness. Here, on his first night off in what felt like a decade from one of the most important jobs in the nation, he could hardly process his own thoughts.

Working for the secret service was maddening at times. Sure, Jack could appreciate the grandeur of all the cool gadgets and super-secret self-destructible mission reports, but there were far too many intricacies to handle every single day of the year.

Handsome Jack was good at his job, though, and he definitely wouldn’t trade it for one at a desk. He was the best hacker back in the US and he’d be damned if he wasn’t the best in England. Despite the commanding presence he’d learned to carry himself with, he wasn’t too bad at all the stealth bullshit, either. The Meriff, Jack’s boss, was a real son of a taint - Jack knew it, every spy under his goddamned thumb knew it - but at least he let Jack blow off steam when he needed to. _Blow off_. Heh.

When a tall, shy-looking brunette took a seat next to Jack and quietly flagged down the waitress for a rum and coke, Jack could’ve laughed at how unwaveringly perfect his luck was. The stranger spoke in a familiar accent - he was from the states, too - and by the looks of his creased shirt and tousled hair covering the right side of his forehead where it seemed to have fallen out of its gelled style, he’d only just finished checking into the hotel from a long trip.

Jack regarded every detail of the stranger when bright red, cybernetic fingers wrapped around the cold glass he’d been presented with; he always had a thing for cybernetic enhancements, even if he didn’t have any himself.

The stranger sighed in satisfaction after he took his first sip before he caught Jack’s wandering eyes. He turned and gave Jack a bewildered smile, pink in the face, and Jack knew he’d found his conversation starter when he realised an all-too blue eye was offsetting a natural brown one.

“How’s it going, cupcake?” Jack grinned, tapping the corner of his own blue eye. “We match.”

“Ah, yeah! It’s not very often that I meet someone with two colours, too.” He stammered, the familiarity of Jack’s accent not lost on him. Jack hadn’t particularly planned on meeting anyone today, but the world always has a way of putting some beautiful little thing in his lap when he needs it. It was just one of the many, many perks of being Handsome Jack.

“Thank you. For saying hello, I mean.” The slighter man went on. “This place is really hard to get around. I’m… I’m Rhys.”

“If you need any help, I’d be more than happy to give it to you. Name’s Jack.” He said, sending his new interest a wink, who rested his chin on his cybernetic arm. His drink left forgotten, he opened his mouth to speak again before Jack cut him off. “Cute upgrade you’ve got there. Does it have any fun features?”

“Are you asking me if my hand vibrates?”

“I’m trying to keep you on your toes. If it bothers you so much, I’ll keep the sugar-coating to a minimum.” Jack said, low voice radiating mischief over the still-noisy bar. “Your room or mine, princess?”

“It’s Rhys.” He bristled, hopping off his seat, but Jack was more than confident he hadn’t ruined his chances with the brunette even before he stepped towards Jack, standing in-between Jack’s legs. “You’re lucky you’re so handsome.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many people tell me that, baby.” Jack said as he hooked his fingers into Rhys’s empty belt loops, watching amusedly as Rhys raised an eyebrow to challenge his memory of his name. “Right. Rhys.”

It didn’t take long for the pair to make their way out of the bar, through the foyer and into the elevator. Their hands roamed as Rhys continued to scold Jack’s use of pet-names, intent on forcing Jack’s brain to process his preferences, but that only spurred Jack to use them more. He pushed Rhys against the lift’s wall as he nipped at his jawline, filling the empty spaces between kisses and breaths with as many babes and cupcakes as he could.

Being a spy requires a certain level of natural intuition, and Jack had already pinned Rhys down to a T: he was clearly drawn to charisma, dominance and humour, all of which Jack was happy to supply. Jack’s ego flared at just how much attention he was drawing from his companion, and he felt an instantly recognisable strain in his pants. Jack had been neglecting his body’s needs for a while and for some, uncontrollable reason, he really needed Rhys to be under him ASAP.

Fortunately for Jack, his needs were quickly fulfilled. When they toppled into Jack’s room, Rhys was working on his belt before Jack had the time to take off his jacket. The appreciative whine Rhys gave Jack when he freed his cock and saw it in all its glory made Jack’s pride swell - clearly, he was longer and thicker than he’d bargained the stranger who’d picked him up in a bar to be. It was obvious that there weren’t any complaints from the brunette who, to Jack’s delight, began stroking himself through the thick material of his trousers as he shyly explored Jack’s shaft with his metal fingertips.

Rhys’s curiosity won out as he sank to his knees, waiting for Jack to give him the word to continue before settling his mouth around Jack’s tip, drawing the flat of his tongue across it. He hummed, enjoying himself, and he experimented with taking a little more of Jack. One of Jack’s hands found its way to Rhys’s hair when he hollowed his cheeks, sucking as he swirled his tongue around the cock in his mouth, and Jack sucked air in through his teeth at the sloppy, desperate, heavenly attention.

“Enjoying sampling the goods?” Jack asked, regaining the charm he’d lost through his involuntary groaning, and Rhys tilted his head up to make sure Jack could see him rolling his eyes before he got back to coating nearly all of Jack’s cock - as much as his throat could take - in spit and rubbing himself through his clothes.

Jack’s top layers were starting to feel far too tight - he made quick, lazy work of them, even as he got to his shoulder holster, throwing them on the hotel’s table before he realised the repercussions of doing so. The resulting clatter made Rhys stop dead in his tracks. Letting go of the appendage in his mouth with a wet pop, he tilted his head up again.

“Are you-” Rhys started, clearing his throat. “Are you packing heat?”

“I’m a cop.” Jack deadpanned, looking down at the man shifting around on his knees, looking straight at the offending item that’d startled him.

“English cops have guns?”

“Yeah?”

“Hot.” Rhys smirked, and Jack bristled at the fact that Rhys looked as if he’d clicked onto something funny. It was disconcerting to learn that someone as jittery as Rhys wasn’t fazed by the sight of a gun on the man who took him to bed, even as he guided him by the hand away from the doorway. “I bet you look nice in uniform, handsome.”

Rhys peeled off his trousers as seductively as he could before he sat on the edge of the room’s freshly-made bed. He opened his legs as he laid down, presenting himself, and Jack’s concerns flew seven stories down onto the busy London street below them. Rhys’s cock twitched as it vied for attention, but Rhys’s hands were busy pulling his thighs apart for Jack, circling his own entrance as he dry-prepped himself.

Jack could hardly tear his eyes away as he picked his jeans back up again, finding the lotion he kept in his pocket for such situations as these.

“Need some help with that?”

“Make it snappy.” Rhys murmured, settling his hand on his cock as Jack’s fingers worked their magic. Jack looked at him disapprovingly, expecting a little more desperation from Rhys, who huffed and gave in. “Please.”

Jack didn’t waste any time in preparing Rhys properly, pushing a second finger in when Rhys had managed to take his first to the knuckle. Jack’s lithe partner was tight, but he mewled with want - noises that Jack would definitely remember despite the fog of lust he felt - and Jack felt his composure waver again. He couldn’t stand the foreplay for very long, especially as Rhys arched his back and worked his pretty cock with his cybernetics, so Jack opted to place his lubed hand on Rhys’s knee as he positioned himself.

When Jack sharply thrusted in, Rhys dug his fingernails into Jack’s back, desperate for purchase. The acute sting of his skin breaking reminded Jack of his favourite part of his job - of breaking necks with his bare hands, of shooting neat little holes straight into skulls - and the thrill he felt had him leaking precum into Rhys’s hole, slicking the tightness even more as it mixed with the lube he’d used.

“Naughty.” Jack warned despite his pleasure, as Rhys dug his fingers deeper into Jack’s skin, daring to flash a defiant smile when he elicited a moan for it. Jack being Jack, he repaid the favour by setting a brutal pace, savouring the way Rhys’s hands refused to leave their position, wrapped feverishly around Jack for support.

“God, Jack!” Rhys sobbed, eyes shut, and Jack took a moment to see the show under him; to see the svelte muscles in Rhys’s abdomen move as he squirmed to make Jack’s dick go even deeper in him, to see the concentration in Rhys’s face as he rolled his skinny hips to meet Jack’s thrusts, to see his lips part and gasp for air without a shred of dignity. It was all so raw, and exactly what Jack needed - for once, there were no instructions, no hoops to jump through, no bullshit codes to crack, just him, a bed, and a gorgeous, accepting body draped across it, nonsensically begging him to fuck him harder.

Jack wished he could go on for much longer than he knew he could - in fact, he would’ve gladly fucked Rhys well into the morning - but the night wasn’t young, he had work tomorrow, and Jack’s body was far too needy for release to push it any further than it was willing to go. Luckily for Jack, Rhys was being pushed to his limit as well. Watching Rhys cum was ecstasy; Jack worked his cock into the spot that made Rhys cry as Rhys painted his own stomach in ribbons of white, his body taut as he gripped the man above him, crying his name as he crashed back down to Earth.

Limp and heavy, Rhys’s hands relocated to Jack’s hair as his eyes opened from their brief closure, still taking the harsh pounding that Jack was giving him.

“Cum in me.” He pleaded weakly, hoarse voice catching in his throat a little. He pulled himself up, just enough to plant an appreciative kiss on the side of Jack’s mouth before trailing his lips across Jack’s cheek, finally resting at his ear. “Cum in me, Jack.”

Jack let himself go, spilling into Rhys’s spent body, riding out the shockwaves of pleasure he felt pooling in his stomach, pumping in waves from his cock. He groaned Rhys’s name as Rhys whispered him through it; sweet, dirty nothings that Jack was surprised Rhys had floating around in that seemingly innocent head of his.

Contently exhausted, Jack pulled his sensitive dick out of Rhys, and Rhys let out an equally-tired laugh.

“I’d head downstairs, but…” He trailed off, repositioning himself at the head of Jack’s bed as he pulled the socks Jack had neglected to help him with before. “My legs are telling me they’re gonna give way if I try and get up after that.”

“You’re asking for a sleepover, babe?” Jack asked, almost cracking up at the purity of such a request, sliding under the sheets to take a place next to Rhys, who hadn’t stopped smiling at his own suggestion. In all honesty, Jack didn’t mind the idea of not letting the kid - hair even messier than when they’d met, drool stuck to the corner of his mouth, skin blushed a deep pink from the excursion of being fucked - go quite yet.

“Pretty please?” Rhys tried, pawing at Jack’s arm so he’d let Rhys rest on it. When Jack complied, Rhys wasted no time in curling up next to him, head rested on Jack’s broad shoulder, his real arm draped over Jack’s chest so he could gently draw little, sleepy patterns in it.

“Thanks.” He said, Jack’s actions speaking louder than any half-funny quip could. Jack watched intently as Rhys closed his eyes and settled down, thoroughly amused when Rhys complained that Jack was moving too much when he reached over to turn off the lights.

No other words were shared before Rhys looked completely asleep, breath slowed, snoring a little, and Jack was - to put it frankly - pretty fucking pleased with himself. Without a second thought for all the important gear he had littered around his room, he fell asleep, too, with his nose in Rhys’s hair.

“Shit.” Jack spat, sat up in his bed, naked, and alone in a room that had been thoroughly ransacked. “Shit.”

His nightstand’s draw had been pulled out and turned over. His wallet glared at him, empty of every form of ID he held, in the middle of the floor. His clothes had been taken from their complimentary hangers, turned inside-out, and balled-up at the closet’s base; of course, the jacket that held his wrist guns had been taken, too. His shoulder holster was still on the table, but his favourite pistol was nowhere to be seen.

No cloaking pocket-watch. No thigh-strap shield.

However many red flags the _cybernetically enhanced_ American should’ve flared in Jack’s mind yesterday, they simply _didn’t_ , and he had to live with the consequences. He’d just slept with another freaking spy.

Stuck to the pillow next to his was a post-it note, _‘you’re about as bad as being undercover as you are under the covers’_ plastered across it.

“God. Freaking. _Damnit_.”


End file.
